


Stop My Heart (Wires & Power Lines)

by sebasent



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (+ paint jobs), ...that was a bad joke, Anal Fingering, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, M/M, PWP, URT, handjobs, im trash, sorry - Freeform, thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7438371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebasent/pseuds/sebasent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for <a href="http://youreturningscarletscarlet.tumblr.com">Scarlet</a>, because i promised her this MONTHS ago, and whyinhades, because she encouraged me to finish this. it had been sitting on my phone for ever three months. it was quite pathetic<br/>this is my first time writing serious smut so pls b gentle?? my soul is frail but stubborn but apparently porn still makes me blush, what is life<br/>Title is from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7OCgi7rANc%0A"><em>Powerful</em> by Major Lazer, Ellie Goulding & Tarrus Riley</a>! u should listen to it while reading this cause thats what i did while writing. on repeat. i hate that song now and i really hope it was worth it<br/>enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Stop My Heart (Wires & Power Lines)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts), [Rinzler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinzler/gifts).



> for [Scarlet](http://youreturningscarletscarlet.tumblr.com), because i promised her this MONTHS ago, and whyinhades, because she encouraged me to finish this. it had been sitting on my phone for ever three months. it was quite pathetic  
> this is my first time writing serious smut so pls b gentle?? my soul is frail but stubborn but apparently porn still makes me blush, what is life  
> Title is from [_Powerful_ by Major Lazer, Ellie Goulding  & Tarrus Riley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7OCgi7rANc%0A)! u should listen to it while reading this cause thats what i did while writing. on repeat. i hate that song now and i really hope it was worth it  
> enjoy!!

The lights pulse.

 He feels it on his fingertips and the shuddering breaths against his lips: hateful, vengeful, dirty. Thunder rumbles outside and fresh, heavy rain falls on cheap windows.

His eyes flutter. A flash of grey, and a touch, so light it seems imaginary: "And here I thought," he says, his hands hovering over flushing skin and imaginary bitemarks, "That you were but a good little boy scout."

The body underneath him trembles and nimble fingers tug at his remaining clothes, demanding in a way that they could never be outside this godforsaken room. He _tsks_ lowly, backs away with embarrassing exertion. "Now, now, Flash. Don't you think you're going a bit too fast?"

Flash- with his mask still half on, bangs falling into his narrowed eyes and fluttering with his choppy breaths- groans in frustration. "I thought puns were Cold's thing," he says. "Perhaps I should have gone to him-"

Mardon moves forward suddenly. He grabs Flash's hands from the buttons on his shirt and pins them over his head, under the hard pillows only a shitty motel in a shitty town can provide. "Ah, but where would the fun be in that?"

Flash smirks through his frustration, bites back a sharp breath when Mardon's hands go lower, lower, lower. "I dunno," He slurs slightly, lost in temptation, "I hear he's got a big cock."

"And the boy scout has a dirty little mouth, does he not?" Mardon says in lieu of an answer. Flash groans and throws his head back, relishing in the drag of Mardon’s lips against the skin on his neck and shoulders.

Their acquaintanceship was, in retrospective, a tragedy. It was not even supposed to happen, as most do: it was a chance occurrence that neither of them can bother to remember.

Mardon wastes no more time in getting things done as he wants them to be; He strips Flash of his suit and mask and leaves him defenceless and to his will- or at least in the illusion of so. He looks at the miles of skin, beautiful and pale, unblemished thanks to a fast-working immune system, and it is perhaps a villainous act, but he wishes to tear him at the seams and break all that perfect porcelain only to sew him back together with the gold of his lips and fingertips: he has the right to. After all, he is a bad guy: the whistling winds and spluttering rain tell the story on their own.

 Flash growls at him. "Stop staring," he says, defiance in his eyes and with his fingers buried in Mardon's hair, "And suck my dick."

Mardon smirks, kissing the hollow of his throat and down, down. He bites and licks and sucks, pulls sinful moans from Flash's red, red lips, stops to blow on his nipples and says, "As you wish, hero," around them. He goes slow, as he does. His fingers follow his mouth and teeth, feather-light in the fading bruises, and he does not let Flash pressure him into more.

He makes the journey and takes the time to taste every inch of skin he is presented with, worship what is prohibited, love what he is unable to, and when he finally kisses Flash where he wants to be kissed, there is lightning on his fingertips.

 It crackles and burns with every thrust, and they dig tiny patterns into Flash's hips along with bruises like his fingerprints. Flash is insistent and commanding, so unlike his usual self, and Mardon opens his eyes to admire what only he has the pleasure to see: The Flash, an unmovable force, wrecked and trembling, in his most intimate.

 It is quite humbling. Mardon pulls away and leans up before Flash can protest, swallows it when it eventually comes. His hands continue to work- he pins Flash with his body and relishes the sounds he makes when they rub together, smirks through the haze of lust and desperation that clouds their eyes just to say, “Ah, Fla- _fuck_ , Barry!”

Barry laughs, breathless and proud, into Mardon’s mouth. His hands are free, now- Mardon doesn’t remember when he let them go- and ripping his shirt and pants off in a heartbeat, leaving them both stark naked, Barry on top of Mardon.

Mardon huffs. “Why won’t you let me have my way, for once?”

“Ah, but where would the fun be in that?” Barry parrots, still smirking. He doesn’t care much for conversation at the moment, and he makes sure Mardon knows so- he mimics his actions from before, blows small and uneven breaths onto Mardon’s dick before continuing to kiss and bite the inside of his thighs, careful not to touch.

“Hah, that’s _my_ line,” Mardon says, indignant, and cannot say anymore when a strangled cry escapes him as Barry licks a strip up his dick.

Mardon feels his chest heave with every new thing that Barry does- swirl his tongue, use his teeth, go down until his tip is touching the back of Barry’s throat and Mardon wants to thank any celestial being that may be listening for Barry’s complete lack of a gag reflex. He’s enjoying himself so much he doesn’t even protest when there’s a slight breeze and Barry’s finger, slick and long, is touching his ass.

“Ah, shit, _please_ ,” he tries to say, but it comes out a garbled mess. Barry has the audacity to laugh.

“As you wish,” he says, and suddenly there’s a finger up his ass and Mardon is experiencing everything in a different light. Barry uses his other hand along with his mouth, still at work, and he forgets about the finger until he feels it brush against his prostate. He moans loudly, and it encourages Barry- he goes with more fervour, both with his mouth and with his hands.

Mardon’s getting used to the sensations when suddenly Barry stops, and he feels an electric shock run through him before-

Barry’s hands vibrate. Barry’s hands vibrate, against his prostate and his shaft, and Mardon _screams._

Barry’s surprise leads to him pulling away from Mardon, leaving him wet and desperate for _more_.  

He wants everything.

Barry kisses him with his dirty, dirty mouth, and bites at his neck where he knows he likes it. Mardon closes his eyes and arches his back, seeking friction, and Barry takes them both into his hand.

“Do you like that?” he asks, voice rough. Mardon nods.

His hands are fisted- one in Barry’s hair, holding on for dear life, and the other one on the sheets beneath him, damp with sweat and lube. He can’t really do much more- he’s paralysed in pleasure and lust, the pressing weight of his orgasm originating behind his bellybutton, enhanced by Barry’s little huffs and moans and whispers, the sound of skin-on-skin contact.

Barry jerks them both off like his life depended on it. The rhythm he kept up until now is withering and breaking with every passing second, and his hand is blurring with how much he’s shaking, and honestly, Mardon’s eyes are crossing with how _much_ is going on.

“ _Mardon_ ,” Barry moans, long and hard, enjoying the pressure and pull of his body. His fingertips tingle and thunder rumbles overhead, menacing, and then Mardon’s leaning up with the last strings of sanity he holds and whispers, wet and dirty: “Mark,” into his ear, together with a small bite. “Call me Mark.”

 Barry does.

he screams it so loud he _knows_ the people in the room three floors down will be able to hear him, and basks in the vibrations that surge through his fingers and the flush of desire that colours his chest.

He slumps forward, exhausted and panting, body shaking with aftershocks as if he’d been electrocuted.

“Get off,” he hears Mardon- Mark- whisper. He’s pushing at his arm weakly, and Barry takes a deep breath and gathers all his strength to roll over.

“Holy shit,” he sighs once he’s back to normal and doesn’t feel like he’s about to shudder straight through the bed.

Mark snorts from beside him.

“Seconded,” he says.

Barry laughs as much as he is able to, and tries to imagine a world where he can stay here for the night, kiss Mark without guilt or fear or rage.

He is interrupted by the chime of a cell phone, buried under pools of clothes.

“I guess that is my cue to go,” Barry sighs. Mardon hums.

He dresses quick; he makes sure to waste no time in pleasantries or lingering gazes, because that was their arrangement: no strings. Just fucking.

“See ya,” Mardon says to the door.

There is a sock on the windowsill. He stares at it until his phone rings, too, and he is pulled from his melancholy by inciting words and money.

**Author's Note:**

> i honest wrote mark's name as merde more than once jaj  
> kudos are food for the soul. really.  
> also, constructive criticism is very much welcome & encouraged :o  
> thank yall for reading!!


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